Instead, he reaches out with one small hand, pressing it very lightly against her cheek. The gesture is so gentle, so unexpected from this ancient being in child form, that we all hold our breath.
Nikki's attention is entirely on him now, drawn by that impossible tenderness.
"These realms do not hate who you truly are," he says, and his voice carries the weight of absolute truth. "It's your kind that has plagued us into unworthiness that feeds rage and torment."
He pauses, thumb moving slightly to catch a tear that Nikki doesn't seem to realize has escaped.
The gesture is achingly human despite everything else about him.
"We don't hate you," he whispers, and there's something personal in the words now. "Just... your kind has never been genuine as your heart portrays."
The implications layer—not just about Nikki but about Fae in general. About betrayal and hurt that runs deeper thanindividual prejudice. About why this realm attacks her so viciously while accepting the rest of us.
He lets go then, stepping back and looking away as if embarrassed by his own gentleness.
When he speaks again, his tone has returned to its earlier brusqueness.
"My sister is up ahead. Follow."
He doesn't wait for a response or questions. His form simply fades, dissipating like smoke until even my enhanced vision can't track where he went.
We're left in our bubble of lesser darkness, processing what just happened.
"Did the scary ancient child just..." Atticus starts, then stops, unable to articulate what we all witnessed.
"Comfort me?" Nikki finishes, voice small and wondering. Her hand rises to touch where his had been, as if trying to preserve the unexpected kindness.
"I think he did," Mortimer says thoughtfully. "Which raises interesting questions about his true nature versus the front he presents."
I find myself thinking about stories—about villains and heroes, about who gets redemption and who gets destroyed. About two siblings sharing a body, one labeled dangerous and one labeled dark.
About the complex truth that neither might be what they seem.
"We should move," I say finally. "If Gwenivere is ahead, we need to reach her."
"Through that?" Nikki gestures toward the barrier of flame-touched magic that Gabriel had been studying. "How?"
I consider our options.
The barrier pulses with hostile intent, designed to keep out anything that doesn't belong. But we have something the barrier might not expect.
"We were invited," I point out. "Gabriel said to follow. In realms like this, invitation matters."
Mortimer nods slowly.
"Zeke's right. Permission granted by a legitimate authority…which Gabriel certainly seems to be…should allow passage."
"Should," Atticus emphasizes. "Not will."
"Only one way to find out," I say, moving toward the barrier.
The others follow, Nikki still visibly shaken by her interaction with Gabriel.
I find myself wondering what he saw in her that prompted such unexpected gentleness. What truth did those ancient eyes perceive that made him offer comfort instead of mockery?
As we approach the barrier, I think about loyalty. About choosing to stand with someone even if the world labels them villain. The way Gwenivere looked at me and saw person instead of tool.
Versus the way Gabriel looked at Nikki and saw pain that deserved acknowledgment instead of exploitation.
